Chapter 370: Chapter 370: Come Here Quickly
He started coughing—loud, ragged coughs that scraped out of his throat like broken glass. The sound was so sharp, so utterly miserable, that even Kian’s ever-stoic expression cracked. His eyes widened the tiniest fraction, a silent acknowledgment of just how bad whatever had entered Zyran’s mouth must have been.
And Isabella? She lost it.
The moment the first wheeze escaped Zyran’s lips, she burst into laughter. Not just any laugh, either—this was the kind that bent your stomach, the kind that stole your breath, the kind that sent tears racing down your cheeks. She clutched her side, doubled over in Kian’s lap, shaking so hard her hair spilled around her face like a curtain of blonde silk.
Kian’s arms tightened almost instinctively, steadying her as she shook with laughter. Her small frame rocked against him, her golden hair brushing against his chest, spilling over his arm like sunlight caught in his grasp.
He didn’t smile—he rarely did—but his gaze softened, his blue eyes lingering on the curve of her lips and the glow in her cheeks. She laughed without restraint, free and wild, and though he said nothing, a quiet warmth stirred inside him.
He held her closer, grounding her in his lap, as if letting her slip away in that moment was simply unthinkable.
She knew that pain. She had experienced Glimora’s fart before. And not just a casual puff—no, the full force. That noxious little storm had left her on the ground, clutching her chest, swearing she had just tasted death.
It wasn’t just bad. It was apocalyptic.
And the worst part? The stink hadn’t even spread this time. Isabella realized with dawning horror—and hilarity—that Glimora must have learned to control it. Yes, the little demon had aimed the weapon with sniper-like precision. Straight at Zyran. Not a whiff reached anyone else. The whole blast concentrated on one poor, unfortunate soul.
That realization only fueled her hysteria.
"Gl—Glimo—" Isabella gasped between laughs, trying and failing to form words. She clutched her stomach harder, her voice breaking into helpless squeals.
Glancing down, she saw Glimora practically glowing with smug satisfaction. The little beast had her tiny nose tilted in the air, shaking her head like a general pleased with the success of her most vicious campaign.
Isabella nearly fell out of Kian’s arms.
"Come here quickly," she managed, half-scolding, half-giggling, though her voice cracked with the weight of laughter. Her hand motioned frantically, as if trying to stop a ticking bomb before it fired again. She was not taking chances on Glimora farting fire next.
Obediently—no, proudly—Glimora hopped down from Zyran’s shoulder. She pranced across the table like a conquering hero, tail wagging, and then climbed into Isabella’s lap. Isabella immediately cupped her close, pressing frantic kisses into her fur while still wheezing laughter. Glimora accepted them like tribute, her little chest puffed up with pride.
Meanwhile, Zyran sat frozen, eyes watering, mouth open, gagging like he had just inhaled an entire sulfur pit. His fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, chest heaving. His disbelief was written in every sharp line of his face.
And Isabella laughed harder.
Her laugh spilled out, wild and uncontrolled. It rose high and sweet, like the kind of music that made people stop walking in the streets just to listen. Her entire body shook with it, her eyes glistening, her cheeks flushed a warm pink.
Cyrus froze mid-motion, spoon in hand. Kian, usually the unshakable lion, found himself staring down at the woman in his arms like she had transformed into something otherworldly.
In that moment, both men forgot about Zyran entirely.
Zyran looked up angrily, his red eyes flashing as though betrayal itself had punched him in the gut. He really could not believe it—it was Glimora. The tiny, fluffy menace. The same little beast who looked so soft, so angelic, so deceptively harmless. She had farted on him. On him.
How could a creature that resembled a snowball of innocence carry such wickedness in her soul? He swore that blast wasn’t natural. That fart alone could have wiped out half the underworld armies if bottled correctly. It clung to his lungs like smoke, burned his pride worse than fire. Zyran gagged once more, chest heaving, clutching at his throat as if he had just swallowed poison.
He had underestimated her. He’d thought the glaring, the huffs, the dramatic little stomps were all bark and no bite. He actually believed—for a single foolish moment—that she had forgiven him. That maybe, just maybe, the little demon had decided to perch on his shoulder as a sign of peace.
But no. She had played him. Carried out a plan so perfectly that even he, the cleverest of princes, hadn’t seen it coming until it was too late. A fart ambush. His dignity, shattered.
He opened his mouth, ready to curse her name to the heavens and the underworld both, when his gaze shifted—landing squarely on Isabella.
She was doubled over, laughing so hard she could barely breathe, her hair spilling forward like a golden curtain, her cheeks glowing red with joy. The sound of her laughter filled the room, bubbling like a stream, and Zyran froze.
The humiliation clawing at his pride melted into something else. Something unfamiliar. His chest eased, the ache in his throat dulled. He couldn’t even bring himself to scowl properly anymore. Watching her laugh—watching her look that beautiful, that alive—it disarmed him.
His lips twitched, against his will, the corners betraying him with the ghost of a smile.
Maybe the fart wasn’t so bad after all.
Because Isabella’s laughter... Isabella’s laughter was worth it.
She was radiant. Every sound she made, every twitch of her lips, was like fire and light in their bleak world.
For a few seconds, the three men were nothing but idiots—sitting, gawking, unable to look away from her.
Only Glimora noticed.
The little beast blinked up from her mama’s lap, ears twitching, and narrowed her eyes at the three of them. Her tiny face scrunched into an expression so full of jealousy it could sour milk. She flicked her tail, glaring in silence.
Really? her look said. Three of you? At once? Absolutely not. She doesn’t need you. She only needs me. I’m the only one she’ll ever need.
But none of them paid her any attention. All three pairs of eyes were locked on Isabella, drinking her in like starved men.
And Isabella, still giggling, felt the weight of the air change. Slowly, her laughter trickled down. She blinked, confusion tugging at her lips. "Did you see his face?" she started, pointing toward Zyran, but the words trailed off when she noticed the way they were staring at her.
Not laughing. Not mocking Zyran. Just... staring.
Her smile faltered. "What? Why are you staring at me?" she asked suspiciously. "You’re supposed to be staring at him and laughing at him."
Zyran, still recovering, jabbed a thumb toward his chest. "Me?"
"Yes, you!" Isabella snapped, cheeks heating with embarrassment. "You’re the one who got farted on, not me. So why are you all quiet and staring at me like this show is supposed to be on me?"
Cyrus’s mouth moved before his brain caught up. "Because you’re very beautiful," he said softly.
The words dropped into the room like a stone into water, sending ripples everywhere.
Silence fell. Utter, choking silence.
Cyrus froze, his own eyes widening as if he couldn’t believe the betrayal his lips had just committed. Kian’s head turned toward him slowly, his expression unreadable but his aura heavy. Zyran’s coughs stopped, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
And Isabella—Isabella went scarlet.
Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. For once, she was speechless. Her heart thudded in her chest like a trapped bird.
Glimora tilted her head, glaring harder.
The room held its breath.